Telling Secrets to the Shadows
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: Fives and Dogma find shelter, in more ways than one. An Elysian Fields story.


The mountains looming in front of them didn't look half as ominous as the clouds behind.

"Is that a building?"

 _"Go go go!"_

The sky flashed above them and thunder cracked the air. Wind pushed at their backs, hissing through the grain fields to either side of the road. The scent of rain upon the earth rode the strengthening gusts.

They ran for the speck at the mountains' base. The storm kept pace, just slightly behind, as though teasing them, letting them try to outrun it. The air grew colder. Charged, almost. They had to make it to the building. Out in the fields like this, miles and miles of fields stretching out before the mountains, they were too exposed. No cover, no shelter. They kept running.

The rain descended on them just as they reached the yard around the building. A small stone cottage, set half into a hillside, its door slightly ajar and swaying in the wind. Soaked through already, they pulled the door back and ducked inside. It was dark, and a thick coating of dust covered the floor. But old habits die hard.

"Check it!" Fives barked.

He felt more than saw Dogma move away from him, toward the opposite side of the cottage. Nothing much to check here, just a fireplace and an old wooden trunk. Fives lifted the lid. Nothing.

 _"Clear!"_

 _"Clear!"_ came Dogma's voice, from what seemed to be the kitchen, raised two steps above the room Fives was in. Probably at one point a common room. Fives carefully ascended the steps and followed Dogma down the hallway. Dogma found a room and swept it–– _" 'Fresher's clear!"_ ––and Fives moved ahead toward the next door. Bedroom probably. A small closet sat just behind the door, and dusty curtains hung over a window.

 _"Bedroom's clear!"_

Fives met up with Dogma again at the back door, which was firmly shut. The area next to the door held a washbasin and some ancient-looking clothes laundering units. "This room's clear," Dogma said.

There was a pause. Outside, the rain clattered off the tiled roof, and the wind whistled through some crack in the stone. But inside, the air was still, quiet. Thick with dust and stagnant, but settled. Restful. Safe. Fives looked at Dogma. Dogma returned the gaze. He could tell Dogma felt it too. Somehow, they knew. They could stop running.

Not just from the storm.

Mile after mile, transport to transport, further out of civilization, further from anyone who might recognize them, further from the clutches of the new Empire. They could stop running now.

They were home.

Fives felt a weight lift from his chest, the sudden lightness weakening his knees. He sank to the floor against the rough wood paneling of the wall. No Seps. No Republic. No GAR. His eyes fluttered closed. He breathed deep. He breathed again. He felt like he hadn't breathed in so long. The lightness ached, as though it were a wound he finally realized he had. He lingered in the moment, entranced by the fact that he actually _could_. He really could. He could stay like this forever if he wanted to.

"You're wet."

Okay maybe not forever.

Fives opened his eyes. Dogma stood above him, jacket off, working at the buttons on his civvy shirt.

It still felt strange to wear civilian clothing.

"We have to get out of these clothes. We need to dry them."

Despite himself, Fives chuckled. "We haven't even been here ten minutes and you're already trying to get me naked?"

Dogma fumbled with the buttons. "What? No! That's not what I–– Wet clothes aren't _good_ for you–– I'm not trying–– I––" He turned away, pulling the shirt back around him, face flushing.

"Dogma–– Dogma, hey. I'm sorry." Fives found his feet again. "Im sorry. It was a joke." He stood there, palms turned slightly outward in what he hoped was a conciliatory gesture. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean it that way. I don't know why I said that. It's just… There's something about this place. Do you feel it?"

"All I feel is wet," Dogma said. But he turned slightly back toward Fives.

Fives gestured toward the bedroom door. "Look, there's a fireplace in the common room. Why don't you step in here, and I'll see if I can get a fire going, and then you can give me your clothes and I'll dry them. Okay?"

Dogma looked at him. His face somehow spoke of incredulous bemused gratitude all at once. "Fives," he said, "I'm not… I grew up in the barracks too. I'm not a prude. I just…wasn't… _suggesting."_

There was a pause, underscored by the distant rumble of thunder.

"A fire would be good though," Dogma continued, rubbing his arms. As if on cue, a gust of wind blasted the cottage, rattling the windows and whistling louder through the cracks in the stone. Fives nodded.

They wandered back into the main room, where Fives unshouldered the pack he'd been carrying. He rummaged through it until his hand closed on the small tinder box at the bottom. Dogma had found a couple of old logs in the corner, and arranged them on a weathered metal grate inside the fireplace. Fives added some tinder to the pile and sparked a small flame. It grew, and soon the cottage was filled with a hearty crackle and the rich scent of woodsmoke. And warmth, sweet, soothing warmth.

They peeled off their soaked clothes and laid them out around the room. Despite Dogma's earlier admission, Fives tried to give him some privacy. But his eyes caught a hint of ink, and he found he couldn't look away. The patterns danced across Dogma's right hip, dipping down his thigh and sweeping up again across the swell of his buttock, in an intricate––and much larger––mimic of the tattoo on his face. It was beautiful.

"You're staring."

It was Fives' turn to flush. He ducked his head. "I didn't realize you had more ink."

"I didn't realize you did either." Dogma's eyes flicked to the small Z-6, blue handprint, and black teardrop on Fives' ribcage, below his heart. "The teardrop…that's Tup, isn't it?"

Fives brought his hand up reflexively, brushing his fingers over the symbols. "Yeah."

Dogma crossed to the fireplace and sat before it, pulling his knees to his chest. He chewed his bottom lip. "And the others…gone too?"

Fives sank down beside him, sitting cross-legged. He stared into the fire for a time. Yeah. They were gone too.

"The zee-six was Hevy. My first squad's heavy gunner. He sacrificed himself on our first deployment, to get me and Echo out. Droidbait and Cutup were already gone by then. The handprint is––" He swallowed. Hells, it still hurt. It would always hurt. "That's Echo. Captain Rex put that handprint on him himself, on that same deployment. He wore it ever since. He was… We went through ARC training together. He was my last batch brother. Lost him at the Cit–– the Citadel."

A look of sadness crossed Dogma's face. "I heard about that mission."

They lapsed into silence once again. The storm continued to roll over them, growling and flashing. In the flicker of the lightning and the fire, the ghosts of Fives' past felt just a little closer, as though having spoken their names aloud summoned their presence to this lonely cottage.

Dogma finally broke the silence. His voice was thick.

"We were Chevron Squad. Sigil was…he wanted to be a tattoo artist. We all let him practice on us. I wasn't going to at first, but he'd already done the others, and he said he had a great idea, and it would be beautiful, and I…he…he was…important. So I let him do my face. We all got a chevron." Dogma smiled a small, sad smile. "I got the big one after I…lost everyone. Put their initials in it." He shifted, so Fives could see, pointing at each Aurebesh letter worked into the design. "Sigil, Fence, Bish, Watcher." He closed his eyes briefly. "Tup… Everybody thought Tup was in my first squad, but I didn't meet him until I joined the Five-oh-First. He was…important, too."

Thunder cracked loudly overhead, shaking the walls of the cottage and making them both jump. Dogma tucked his knees to his chest again, seeming to shrink away. "I don't know why I said all that," he said, no longer looking at Fives. "I don't talk about them. I haven't––"

Fives felt the weight of that, and he understood. "Maybe it was time."

"Maybe." Dogma stared into the fire. "Maybe it's like Sigil used to say. 'We're telling secrets to the shadows now.' "

"The things you can't say unless the dark is there to hide behind." Fives cast a quick glance behind him at the empty room. "There were plenty of shadows before we got here."

A touch on his hand brought his attention back to the fire. Dogma still stared into it, but he'd reached out to lightly rest his fingers over Fives' on the floor between them. "And now?" he asked softly.

The fire warmed the air before them. Fives shifted his hand, capturing Dogma's fingers in a gentle but solid grasp.

"Maybe just a little light."


End file.
